A Victor's Sacrifice
by Scream123
Summary: An Anthology following the lives (and deaths) of the tributes and mentors of the 74th hunger games. The tributes may be constantly evading death, but the victors are here to play a much more dangerous game. Rated M for a reason. CatoxPeeta
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: violence and MxM sex are both integral parts of the story's plot. Reader discretion is advised._

Three hours had passed since I was reaped for the games, but already my life in District 12 began to feel like a distant memory. I refused to believe that only this morning I was stuffing pastries at my family's bakery, praying that any name but mine would be drawn. I sighed as I stirred my carrot soup, waiting for it to cool. I guess I should have prayed harder. Effie, Katniss, and I sat at the dinner table, with Katniss staring out the train window and Effie facing the both of us, sizing us up, an ever-present smile plastered to her face. Haymitch, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be found. A few moments passed in silence before I decided the soup had cooled to a manageable temperature, taking a spoonful. Seeing me not shout out in pain, Katniss followed suit. Effie Trinket smiled at Katniss and me as we helped ourselves.

"I imagine that this is an exciting time for you two," she beamed. "There's just so much for you to experience!"

Katniss and I side-eyed each other, trying our hardest not to laugh at Effie's absurdity. She likely saw no reason for us to not be thrilled at what she presumably considered to be our shot to escape the misery of our lives in District 12. I doubt she even considered that being stabbed, gutted, maimed, and bludgeoned were the bulk of what we would be experiencing. Even if she did, to her, we were far more fortunate than those we left behind. Katniss rolled her eyes before taking another spoonful of soup. Effie, noticing her comment's poor reception, tensed her jaw slightly before changing the subject.

"Well, perhaps we should watch the recap of the other Reapings while we eat," Effie suggested. A few seconds pass without response.

"It could be useful," she added, giving it a second try. I turn to Katniss to see that she is far more interested in her soup.

"That sounds like a lovely idea," I offered politely. I really could care less, but I figured being agreeable would allow for a more peaceful eating experience. Who knows, I might even pick up some valuable information about my fellow tributes. Effie gave me an appreciative smile before signaling one of the avoxes to turn on the television. As the screen came to life, we were greeted by Caesar Flickerman and a boy about my age seated across from one another, comically bantering as pictures of tributes flashed behind them. It took me a moment to register the boy as Quinn, the winner of the 72nd Hunger Games. My mind reeled as I was reminded of what was probably the strangest games in history.

Coming from District 5, Quinn was essentially an automatic underdog, and his performance before the games did little to heighten the audience's expectations. He received a respectable but forgettable 7 in his combat analysis, and his interview left commentators calling him charming, but plain. He definitely was a looker with his flaming red hair, full lips, high cheekbones, devious blue eyes, and toned body. I will even admit to fantasizing about what he could do with those thick lips of his.

Regardless, he was nowhere near beautiful enough to just have gifts rain down on him like Finnick was, and was largely dismissed as a potential winner. Thus, everyone was shocked when, come the bloodbath, it became apparent that the careers had enlisted him as an ally. Even now, commentator's look back and question how the tributes, much less the tributes' mentors, could have thought this would be beneficial. Nevertheless, it proved to be a fatal miscalculation on the careers' part when he and the boy from District 4 poisoned the others, killing all of them on day 2 and shocking the capitol. Careers almost never turned on each other so quickly, as doing so left the traitor(s) with little manpower to defend the stockpile of supplies that they had gathered from the bloodbath. Apparently, this was of little concern to them. The two packed up all they could carry before burning the remaining supplies down. Quinn, figuring people would come to scavenge through the rubble, left several bags of poisonous mushrooms and berries on the outskirts of the wreckage, making them appear to be supplies that survived the fire. It was a bit of an afterthought, but it still managed to trick two tributes into their demise.

The duo had few struggles after that, as the District 4 boy was the only skilled fighter remaining. Not only that, but the two had become darlings of the capitol, inciting a never ending shower of gifts. They spent the rest of their time wandering aimlessly, camping out in trees and shoving a spear through anyone they stumbled upon. When they found themselves together in the final two, the ensuing brawl was most likely the oddest ending to any Hunger Games ever.

They shook hands, hugged, and counted down before they fought. After a brief squabble, Quinn managed to fatally wound the career, causing him to fall. The two stared at each other for a full minute as the boy bled out. Quinn sat down beside him, appearing to be unsure of what to do. Finally, the two nodded at each other, and Quinn slit the boy's throat. Two years later, he now sat across Caesar, sizing up this year's batch of tributes while promoting his singing career. What a strange world we live in.

I lose my train of thought as I see an image of another tribute pop up onto the screen. She is pale, with tightly pulled red hair and bright amber eyes. While I probably would not consider her to be pretty, her face was most certainly memorable. She wouldn't be out of place in some sort of high fashion magazine. In a way, she resembled Quinn, at least with her hair.

"So, let's talk about your tributes," Caesar smiled, leaning closer as he spoke. "You had a great first year as a mentor with Tatianna. Are you expecting another win for district 5?" Quinn smiled at this, as if Caesar had asked him if the sky was blue.

"Well, I have not talked strategy with them yet, since I was here for their Reaping. But I will tell you that I know both of the tributes personally, and my question isn't so much whether or not District 5 will have a third consecutive winner as it is which will be that winner," he half-joked, nudging Caesar's arm as he laughed with the audience. Katniss frowned at the television before refocusing her attention towards the lamb and mashed potatoes being served to her.

"With a mentor like you, I wouldn't dare count them out," Caesar smiled. As if on cue, Haymitch stumbled into the room, almost tripping over himself in his drunken blur. Katniss and I shared a knowing look before redirecting our attention to the screen. A new tribute had been pulled up. The photo offered little perspective of his actual size, but I was willing to bet that he was at least the weight of Katniss and myself together. As if his chiseled, imposing physique weren't enough, his strong jawline, bronze skin, impeccably styled blonde hair and deep blue eyes made up what had to be the most gorgeous specimen I had ever laid eyes on. I could only thank the heavens that the dinner table concealed the stirring in my pants. Even Katniss's eyes widened slightly at the beast in front of us. Onscreen, Quinn was the first to speak.

"Why hello there, handsome," he cooed, fanning himself.

"I don't know what's in the water down in District 2, but I need to go drink some," Caesar agreed.

"I'd rather just drink him," Quinn winked before sipping from his glass. The crowd erupted in laughter as he struggled to keep a straight face. Caesar did his best to contain his laughter as he slowly got up and inched towards Quinn's chair. He leaned in, acting like he was about to whisper something in his ear.

"FAMILY. PROGRAM," he shouted, causing Quinn to finally burst out laughing as Caesar mock-scolded him. In the background, I hear Effie burst into laughter as she cut into a chocolate cake.

"Those two are just a riot," she smiles. "You know, if you two could show off a little personality, it would help a lot with sponsors,"

"If we had a mentor like that, it would help even more," Katniss sighed, glaring at Haymitch, who at this point had given up making his way to the table and lay comfortably on the floor. I couldn't help but nod my head in agreement. Having a sober mentor would practically triple our odds. Effie pursed her lips in distaste.

"He will feel better in the morning," she sighed, serving us each a slice of cake. I briefly wondered if she truly believed Haymitch would suddenly be useful to us when we all woke up. I don't think she could be that stupid. Ignorant, certainly, but not stupid. Regardless, Haymitch was not going to be of assistance in the foreseeable future. Effie, however, could potentially offer a little insight.

"What personality would you say the capital is looking for?" I tried, hoping for some insight. Effie considered this for a moment.

"Well, whatever you go for, it has to be genuine. As long as you two stay true to yourselves, I'm sure the world will see you coal turn into diamonds!" she beamed. So much for insight.

I smiled politely at her wise words before excusing myself to my bed. It had been a long day, and tomorrow was unlikely to be any better. I took no interest in the room for the moment, stripping down to my underwear and jumping into bed. As I drift off to sleep, the pictures of my fellow tributes flash through my mind. Katniss, the beautiful brute from district 2, the foxlike girl from 5, and the few snippets I had seen of the others all drifted in and out of my consciousness. As my body finally sunk into repose, I felt one last thought fire through my brain.

"I wonder which one will kill me."

 _Author's note: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave me feedback so I can improve on my future chapters! I will be uploading again shortly, so stay tuned._


	2. Chapter 2

_Foxface's POV_

I awoke to a sudden rush of light as my bedroom door opens.

"Morning. Get dressed for breakfast. Five minutes," the voice urged before gently pushing the door to a close. My eyes had not yet adjusted, but I instantly recognized the voice to be my male mentor, Quinn. I had not met him yet, but there was no mistaking his light, melodic tone, almost as if he were whispering. The train must have stopped at some point while I was sleeping, allowing him to board. Sighing, I rolled out of bed, wishing I could sleep an hour or two more. I pulled the first two garments I saw out of my dresser, a light blue tunic and a pair of soft leather pants, pulling them on haphazardly before I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I decided against putting on any makeup, not wanting to miss my five minute deadline.

As I enter the dining room, I am surprised to see only Quinn awaiting me. It must have been very early if neither Tatianna nor Ronan had awoken. Quinn seemed to sense my confusion.

"I would prefer to coach the two of you separately. There is no need for you two to know the other's approach to the games," he states simply, placing a generous helping of eggs, potatoes, berries, and toasted bread in front of me. "Feel free to eat while we talk,"

He allows me a few moments of peace as I take my first few bites. I notice that he has no plate in front of him, choosing instead to sip from a tall glass of milk. A few more seconds pass before he places his drink down, turning his attention back to me.

"What would you say your strengths are?" he asks. I rack my brain for a proper response, but I am not exactly sure what he is looking for.

"I would consider myself to be intelligent," I try. Quinn seems pleased by this, nodding his head slightly.

"I agree," he offers. I am not quite sure how he could already have formed an opinion on my level of intellect, but I decide against asking. A few moments pass before I realize he is waiting for another attribute. Unfortunately for me, I would consider my brain to be my only true asset. Quinn seems to realize that I am stumped.

"How fast can you run?" He tried, taking another sip of milk.

"I have good endurance. My sprint is so-so," I reply truthfully.

"So-so is all we need," he states, confusing me slightly. I suppose he knew the moment he saw me that my athletic skillset would be average at best. Average was likely the best he had dared hope for.

"I assume you have no combat experience?" I shook my head.

"That is hardly a problem. Tatianna will teach you the basics, but our goal will be to minimize combat. It is the best strategy for someone like you," A small sigh of relief escapes my lips. Less combat sounded like a great plan to me. I was about to comment on Quinn's plan when he pulled out a small pile of papers and placed them in front of them. Before I could question them, he held one up for me to see.

"Do you recognize this mushroom?" He seems unable to stay on any particular topic for very long. Examined the mushroom for a moment before realizing I had seen them many times in the market place.

"It's a button mushroom," I answer confidently. Quinn nods his head, placing the picture in front of me before pulling up the next. I am slightly as perplexed as I look at an almost identical picture.

"I assume that is not also a button mushroom, but I cannot name it," I try, hoping to get partial credit for my inferring abilities.

"This one is a destroying angel. Half a cap will kill you. A full cap will kill almost anyone. Death occurs within one day," he informs me before placing the two pictures next to each other.

"Find the difference" he requests, leaning back in his seat. I examined the two closely for a moment.

"The button mushroom has pinkish gills, while the destroying angel's are pure white," I state confidently. Quinn offers me a smile before moving the two cards aside, presenting me with two new pictures, this time depicting two species of roundish berries, one a darker shade of blue than the other. I felt a small surge of pride for knowing this one immediately.

"The left one is blueberries. Edible. Delicious. The right is nightlock. Guaranteed death," I said. Quinn gave me a wide smile.

"Excellent,"

We continued this exercise for the remainder of breakfast, going through each plant and repeating those that I failed to recognize. We were on a third round of review by the time Tatianna and Ronan join us. Ronan's eyes were practically glued shut as he seated himself next to me silently, paying little attention to the cards in front of me. Once he had settled, he glanced at the cards before pointing at the picture of nightlock and looking at Quinn.

"Do you know if this train serves blueberries?"

After two hours or so, the train was nearing the outskirts of The Capitol. I now sat across from Quinn on a bar stool situated near a large window. We had spent the morning discussing everything from potential interview questions to how to properly tie a noose. It was a lot to take in, so much that even I was beginning to feel overwhelmed with information. I notice that he almost said nothing to Ronan, who chose not to take part in our discussion. It was a little saddening to see him so defeated, but I dismissed my pity easily enough. All it really meant was that I had one less competitor.

Suddenly, Quinn ceased his lecture on how to find a water source as The Capitol came into view. Although I tried not to, I could not help but gasp at the marvel before me. The buildings were taller than any I had ever seen, some even reaching into the clouds. The city was practically overflowing with color, drawing my eyes in practically every direction. The buildings were intimidatingly beautiful, the cars were the epitome of luxury, I would even dare say that the sun shined brighter here than in my district, ridiculous as it may sound. None of this, however, compared to the people. Of course, I had seen the people of the capital many times on video, but it in no way prepared me for the assault of color shouting at me from the other side of the glass. Instinctively, I looked at Quinn for guidance.

"Be pleasant, but composed," he managed through his smile, his lips barely moving. "You are happy to see them, but you have more important matters to attend to." I do my best to follow his instructions, crossing my legs, fixing my posture, and smiling cordially. For a moment, I consider waving, but I instead opt for a small nod. It is difficult to gauge their reactions due to the brief window I have to observe each individual citizen, but I am certain of one thing. They will remember me. At this point, what more could I ask?

When the train finally came to a stop, Quinn appears to be pleased with my performance. Admittedly, reading him proves to be a rather daunting task, but I choose to believe that he is satisfied.

"It is time for cosmetic preparation. I will see the two of you soon," he states simply, signaling us towards the exit of the train. He offers no further explanation, but I am able to infer he is referring to some sort of makeover before the parade. I did my best to mask my distain. As I rise to exit, Quinn grabs my arm unexpectedly, looking me dead in the eye.

"Do not complain to them. No matter what they say. No matter what they do." Apparently, Quinn does not have the same struggle with reading me. "The same goes to you, Ronan," he adds as an afterthought. I have a feeling that Ronan did not actually hear Quinn, but he nods his head nevertheless. Slowly, I make my way out of the train cart and onto the ground below, bracing myself for what was to come.

When I am introduced to my stylist, Aquilia, I do my best not to gasp at the sight before me. She was not ugly, she might have even been beautiful, in a way. However, I was half convinced that what I was looking at was not entirely human. Her entire body was painted white, with a pattern of black triangles present at seeming randomly selected sections of her anatomy. The iris of her eyes was both an inhuman shade of purple and augmented to be twice the size that they should be. I had no doubt her nose had been surgically elongated, as it almost resembled a beak. I could only pray that the tissue connecting her hips to her arms was a part of her outfit and not her body. It was obvious that she was trying to look like a bird. She even went so far as to put a perfectly manicured bird's nest in her hair, complete with a jade egg. I spent what was likely an impolite length of time observing her before realizing she was beaming at me.

"Why hello, my darling!" she warbled, pulling me into an embrace. "I'm Aquilia, so nice to finally meet you!" At least she was enthusiastic. I suppose.

"Finch," I offer, knowing the door I had just opened.

"Finch!" she exclaimed. "You're named after a bird? Why, I just absolutely adore birds!" I bite my tongue, deciding a smile is the safest response I can offer. She accepts it wholeheartedly before nudging me towards a flat metal surface where I presume I am meant to lay. Following her instructions, I strip down and lay on my back, feeling the cold metal on my backside. I close my eyes and brace myself for the worst.

By the time I was ready to be placed in my parade outfit, my entire body ached dully, mourning the hair and skin that it was robbed of. Aquilia had waxed almost every inch of my body, including areas that I am almost positive had no hair in the first place, all while discussing everything from past outfits she had designed to the motivation behind her love for birds. The chatter was less gruesome than the waxing, but only slightly. I now sat myself on the metal table as Aquilia pulled out what I presume to be my costume. I do my best not to sigh in disappointment.

She beams as she shows me a simple grey jumpsuit with an array of lightbulbs forming a sort of collar. Lightbulbs. For the electricity district. Revolutionary. The outfit isn't necessarily repulsive, but it is wholly forgettable. I can almost swear that this exact jumpsuit was worn a few years ago. Regardless, I smile as widely as I can, even managing to let out an enthusiastic "wow".

When I finally put the garment on, I begin to feel ever so slightly better. The garment looked no less dull on my body than on the rack, but I was slowly convincing myself that the parade was of little importance. After all, neither Quinn nor Tatianna had very memorable parades, yet both are still alive and kicking. As I begin my march towards where the parade will eventually begin, I have managed to mostly dismiss the parade's importance.

"Just do what you can now. Worry about the rest later," I repeated to myself. I eventually made it to my chariot to find Ronan in an identical costume, modified only to accommodate our different proportions. We exchanged an eye roll before boarding our chariot, waiting patiently for our turn to ride out. When our turn came, we were met with light, scattered applause as the audience waited for something more interesting to emerge. I do my best to sell the garment, maintaining my composure and waving at the crowd, and begin to receive minor attention. Hoping to garner more applause, I pull my hair out of its tight ponytail, letting my mane of hair lose. This earns some loud shouts of encouragement, prompting me to give a graceful flip in the crowd's direction. I even heard someone shout my name. Where Ronan, who stood petrified on his chariot, will be forgotten entirely, I can reasonably hope to be recognized in the days to come.

When I glance at the projector, I realize that I have been a hair too optimistic with my self-evaluation. Onscreen, the tributes of District 12 were outshining me with ease. A cape of fire caressed their back, causing the crowd to practically lose their minds. Their hands were interlocked and raised, as if celebrating a victory. Refusing to look any closer, I immediately turn away from the projector and continue my performance as if nothing had happened.

"It's Fine," I thought as I blew a kiss to the crowd. "District 12 can win this round. They will not win the next."


End file.
